


Stay With Me

by shepardly



Series: Overwatch/Fallout New Vegas AU [4]
Category: Fallout: New Vegas, Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, minor spoilers for Old World Blues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2020-10-09
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:36:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26905243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shepardly/pseuds/shepardly
Summary: Hanzo gets captured once more, but this time McCree finds a way to follow him.
Relationships: Jesse McCree/Hanzo Shimada
Series: Overwatch/Fallout New Vegas AU [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1485764
Comments: 2
Kudos: 26





	Stay With Me

***

The second time Hanzo is snatched out from right under his nose, McCree vows that he won’t take it lying down. 

It didn’t matter that this time couldn’t be more different than the time they got gassed in the hidden bunker that contained the entrance to the fabled Sierra Madre. It didn’t matter that this time was with a crashed satellite with strange technology and Hanzo disappearing in a flash of blinding light when he touched the panel; the panel that had gone dead before McCree’s vision had properly cleared of the ensuing spots, along with the rest of the tech in the satellite.

For a split, heart-stopping second, McCree thought that Hanzo had been vaporized where he stood. But even while some part of him was already starting to go through the five stages of grief, his brain was already analyzing what he was looking at, seeing the lack of ash or goo or even a blackened spot that tended to accompany vaporization, offering up any tidbit of hope that the worst had not just happened right in front of his eyes. 

McCree had heard of teleportation before, but it had only been in theory and in the _Science!_ magazines that Hanzo collected. Never did he think that he’d ever encounter it in his life. Considering the strange things he’d gotten up to since falling into step with Hanzo, he shouldn’t be surprised at this point. 

Fortunately, McCree had the kit he had for his cybernetic arm along, and he very, _very_ carefully began to dismantle the casing of the satellite, trying to access the internal workings of the computer without damaging anything. Once he had it open, he gulped when the enormity of the situation was revealed. The contents of the satellite were far beyond anything he had ever seen before, including Törb’s tinker projects that he’d seen him working on over the years.

By the time he found what he was looking for and delicately pulled the two wires out to attach them to the power source for his prosthetic, hours had passed since Hanzo had disappeared. There was no time to waste. McCree made sure Peacekeeper was loaded and ready, took a deep breath, and sent a surge of power into the satellite.

McCree’s vision went white as power surged through him, lighting him up like a lightning rod on a stormy day. Once the sound and sensation ceased, his knees gave out and he hit a hard and unforgiving floor, very unlike the sand he had been standing on by the satellite. He sucked in a breath and smelled sanitized metal and something acrid. The air was oddly cold on his skin, the sudden drop in temperature raising goosebumps on his flesh. 

“What is this? Did someone order another one? I don’t recall being consulted about this.” Someone complained nearby, startling him badly enough to send him scrambling, trying to regain his footing, Peacekeeper somehow already in hand.

No matter how hard he tried, McCree couldn’t lift Peacekeeper. It was as if she was too heavy, the weight keeping her by his side. His fingers trembled as if he was going to drop the gun, but he clenched his muscles and hung on out of sheer stubbornness.

Fortunately, the strange robot hovering in front of him didn’t appear to have any arms, let alone weapons, putting it a little further down his list of worries. He still couldn’t lift Peacekeeper.

“Where’s Hanzo?!” McCree demanded, then shouted, “ _Hanzo!_ ”

“Surely there is no one here by that name.” The annoyed robot said. “Unless… hmm. Yes, I see.”

Something sharp stabbed McCree’s neck and he instinctively clapped a hand over it, feeling the weight and feathers of a syringe dart between his fingers. He managed to pull it out, but his knees gave out without warning and he hit the floor hard. The syringe rolled from his suddenly paralyzed hand and he could only gape up at the robot hovering over him. Whatever he had been injected with, it worked _fast_.

“Yes, yes, this will do nicely.” The robot was muttering to itself. “Nicely indeed.”

_No_ , McCree barely had time to think before everything went black.

***

“Jesse.”

McCree didn’t realize he was drifting into consciousness until he heard Hanzo hoarsely whisper his name somewhere near his ear. He tried to rouse himself, tried to open his eyes, but he felt heavy, and cold. Unconsciousness clawed at him, pulling him down, but Hanzo’s voice came through to him again.

“ _Jesse_.”

McCree managed to pry sticky eyelids open and could barely make out a pale blur above him, but after a couple slow blinks the blur coalesced into Hanzo. Relief hit him like a punch in the gut, and despite the situation that was already setting off alarm bells in his head he couldn’t help the stupid smile that always came so easy when he laid eyes on Hanzo.

Hanzo shakily smiled back at him before his expression crumpled and he leaned over to press their foreheads together.

“You shouldn’t have come,” Hanzo whispered, his voice hoarse, “you shouldn’t have followed me.”

“I had to,” It took more effort than McCree expected to speak, and his voice wasn’t in any better shape than Hanzo’s, “I had to, darlin’.”

“I know.” Hanzo’s voice broke. “I know you did. Jesse, listen to me. I have to go.”

McCree immediately tried to move, to get up, that instinct to go with him overriding all the aches and heaviness in his limbs, but he was stopped short by something cold on his wrist and ankles and Hanzo’s hand on his chest.

“No, no, stay still,” Hanzo sounded scared, more scared than McCree could remember him being, and it was enough for him to stop moving, frowning in confusion. “I have to go, but you can’t come with me.”

Something cold suddenly rushed up his arm, feeling like a dose of Radaway that had been taken straight out of the fridge and slammed into his veins. He managed to lift his head to look down at his arm, and it only registered then that his gear was gone — including his clothing — and replaced by a thin medical gown. Both of his wrists and ankles were clamped to the table he laid on, doubly so on his prosthetic, and a band of metal and wiring with IV tubing attached encircled his right forearm.

Oh, _shit_.

McCree’s head thumped back onto the table as a rush of dizziness hit him. Hanzo was right. He shouldn’t have come. He didn’t know what these people wanted Hanzo to do that needed persuasion like _this_ , but he knew it couldn’t be anything good.

“I’m sorry,” he croaked, trying to get the words out before he blacked out entirely, not sure how much he was getting across, “I’m sorry—”

“Jesse!” He could feel Hanzo’s hands on his face, in a distant sort of way, “Stay with me, please, _Jesse!_ ”

It was the last thing he heard before everything went black.

***

McCree wasn’t sure how much time passed as he drifted in and out of consciousness. Sometimes Hanzo was there when he awoke, more often he wasn’t. It was better when Hanzo was there, sitting beside him, although he looked more and more weary and ragged as time went on. He was wearing unfamiliar clothing that changed from time to time, although he seemed to settle on a black and white suit that reminded McCree of a Vault suit, although with more tech built into it. He would tell McCree what he had been doing, about the Think Tank and Moebius and how they were imprisoned here, wherever here was. Hanzo called it the Big Empty, but the name meant nothing to McCree. Hanzo also appeared to have strange, alarming scars but he assured McCree that it was nothing to worry about and refused to talk any more about them, or any kind of escape. Since he couldn’t get up and see about the scars for himself, McCree had to reluctantly take his word for it and try to focus on his words rather than appearance. There was something weighing heavily on Hanzo, something that put him into a near panic every time McCree tried to do or say anything about escape, but he wouldn’t or couldn’t say why exactly, would only beg McCree to stay still and not say any more about escape. It was terrifying, seeing Hanzo so uncertain and frightened, and eventually McCree gave up talking about escape and simply listened to what information Hanzo did volunteer. Still, McCree wasn’t sure how much of it he actually absorbed, as consciousness seemed fleeting. It was alarming, how often he would blink while Hanzo was in the middle of telling him something, and when he opened his eyes Hanzo would be gone, hours of time lost with him. 

At one point he was woken by a pain that felt like fire in his veins, bringing him back to consciousness with a shock that made him arch on the table, limbs trembling with tension against his bindings as he sucked in desperate sips of air through clenched teeth, struggling not to scream. He didn’t know if Hanzo was there, unable to focus any sense long enough to know what was happening, trapped in his own personal hell as agony raged within him. It was too much, overwhelming and terrifying, and if he did scream he was deaf to it. It took too long for the blackness to return, and he was grateful for the reprieve it brought when it did.

The next time he opened his eyes, Hanzo was sitting beside him, face buried in his hands. McCree tried to speak, to say his name, anything to make Hanzo look at him, but his throat felt dried and cracked and his voice failed him. Hanzo must have heard something anyway, because he lifted his head and immediately came closer. McCree could see that his eyes were red rimmed, and the scar across his forehead that he’d been trying to play off was a lot worse than he’d let on.

“I’m sorry,” Hanzo whispered, his hands trembling where he placed them on McCree’s face. “Stay with me, please. I’m sorry.”

McCree weakly shook his head, tried to tell him it wasn’t his fault, but another rush of dizziness hit him. He tried to fight it, tried to stay awake, but it just made the dizziness a _lot_ worse and he could vaguely hear Hanzo panicking. He instinctively tried to pull his arm free, tried to pull away from the band around his arm that fed the drugs directly into his veins, but his limbs trembled and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so weak. 

Despite his efforts, everything went black anyway.

***

The painful awakenings continued at seemingly random intervals, never any less agonizing. McCree knew they had to be doing it as punishment for something Hanzo had or hadn’t done, but as much as he dreaded it he couldn’t find it in him to be truly angry at the Courier. He knew Hanzo wouldn’t let it happen for no reason. Hanzo would get them out of here, one way or another.

***

When McCree woke up while being dragged off of the table by Hanzo, he knew this was it. Hanzo had done it, whatever it had been, to get them out. Weak as a kitten, he clutched at Hanzo and tried to force his numb feet into motion, getting them underneath him so he could stand up. Hanzo was saying something to him, but the sudden altitude change made him black out.

When he came to, they were trudging through an unfamiliar piece of desert under the hot sun, and even though he couldn’t remember how he had gotten here he seemed to be operating under his own power. He looked down at Hanzo, who was under his right arm and holding on to him firmly to support him as they walked. The Courier had his stubborn face on, glaring at the distant horizon as if he could intimidate it into cooperating. 

“How… Where are we? How’d we get here?” McCree’s voice cracked, and he nearly tripped and had to lean more heavily on Hanzo. He was somehow in his own pants and shirt again; even his boots were on his feet, although he could feel one sock slipping down inside his boot.

“The— the teleporter took us back to the drive through. Then we walked.” Hanzo told him, the furrows in his brow taking on a more worried angle as he looked up at him. “Don’t you remember?”

McCree squeezed his eyes shut and tried to remember, but trying to grasp any memory of the missing time was like trying to scoop water with a sieve. Hanzo held him more tightly as they walked on.

***

The next time McCree became aware, he was staring into a small campfire. He rubbed his eyes and sat up a bit straighter to look around, taking in his surroundings.

A large stone was at his back, propping him up comfortably enough by the fire that crackled and threw off a welcome heat. It was dark, and the moon and stars glowed overhead, bright enough that he could see that they were still somewhere out in the desert. He looked down at himself and realized that his serape had been loosely wrapped around his shoulders like a blanket, but it had slipped free when he sat up.

“Jesse?” It sounded like Hanzo dropped something with a _clank_ and he quickly came to kneel beside him. “Are you with me?”

McCree blinked at him in confusion.

“Never mind.” Hanzo waved his hand in a chopping motion and pulled the serape back up around McCree’s shoulders, still looking at him worriedly. “How are you feeling?”

“Bit muddled, to be honest.” McCree admitted, looking around at his surroundings in wonder again before looking at Hanzo more closely.

He could feel the blood drain from his face as he took in Hanzo’s condition. The Courier had new scars; surgical scars, _horrifying_ implication scars. The one across his forehead was bad enough, but he could see more where Hanzo’s jacket hung open and exposed his neck. 

“Han,” McCree choked out, reaching to touch his face, “what… what happened to you?”

Hanzo squeezed his eyes shut and cupped his hand around McCree’s as he turned to press his cheek against his palm. Instead of replying, he sat down beside McCree and leaned into him, wrapping his arms around his torso and holding him tightly. McCree lifted his arm to wrap around Hanzo, arranging his serape so it covered them both and hugged him back, tightly. Hanzo let out a deep sigh, and McCree turned his head to place a gentle kiss at Hanzo’s temple. He felt cold to his bones, and the faint tremor he could feel in his limbs was matched by the slight trembling he could feel in Hanzo’s arms.

“We’re going to Dr Ziegler.” Hanzo said. “Everything will be alright. Just stay with me.”

***

McCree first smelled antiseptic, then a blinding light flashed in his eyes. He flinched, throwing himself backwards away from the assault, and after a disorienting moment of vertigo he hit packed dirt with a crash.

“ _Jesse!_ ” 

A warm hand came to rest on his shoulder and despite it’s gentleness he flinched away and threw a defensive hand up, shaking his head, trying to clear his vision. When it did clear, he found himself blinking up at Dr Ziegler, with a worried Hanzo hovering near her shoulder.

He looked around, trying to figure out where he was, and saw the white canvas walls of the tents that the Followers had set up in the Old Mormon Fort.

“How…” McCree squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his hands to his eyes. A warm, calloused hand came to rest on his forearm and he instinctively knew that it was Hanzo. He didn’t know that he had tilted towards Hanzo until he caught him, holding him tightly in his arms. McCree shuddered and hugged him back, disoriented and confused but relieved that Hanzo was there. He didn’t realize how tightly he gripped Hanzo’s shirt until Angela pried the fingers of his right hand free in an attempt to resume her examination.

“We only just arrived.” Hanzo told him, and McCree let Angela do whatever it was she wanted, forcing stiff limbs to move as she directed. His eyes were still watering from the light but he forced them to stay open anyway, taking in his surroundings, trying to ground himself. “Dr Ziegler wants to examine you.”

“How are you feeling, McCree?” Angela asked him, bringing her infernal little flashlight back into view. He followed her instructions anyway, despite the renewed wash of reflexive tears. His head felt like it was ready to split open.

“Losing time.” His voice was hoarse, his mouth and throat feeling cracked and dry. He ignored the pain. He had to tell them. “I just… blank out, then wake up somewhere else.”

Hanzo’s grip tightened fractionally on his arm.

“Do you know what triggers it?” Dr Ziegler put the annoying little flashlight away and felt up the sides of his neck with gentle hands.

“No, I just…”

A strong hand tightened on his forearm, snapping him into alertness once more. He could feel his world shrinking, drawing into himself, and he didn’t know how to stop it.

“I think it’s—”

“ _Jesse,_ ” Hanzo’s voice cracked with anguish, “stay with me!”

McCree didn’t even have time to draw in another breath before everything went black. 

***

McCree drew in a lungful of air and opened his eyes. Everything was blurry, and he became even more aware of the burning dryness in his mouth and throat. Angela and Hanzo were gone, as if between one blink and the next. He knew what had happened, that he had lost another segment of time, which was probably why adrenaline flooded his veins as he struggled to sit up. Leads of some sort were taped to his chest and an exploratory search with his good hand discovered more on his head. He was in the process of ripping them off when someone he only vaguely recognized came barreling into the room.

“No, no, don’t touch those!” The blond in a white coat all but shouted. Fortunately, Angela was on his heels.

“Ang, what-” McCree’s voice gave out, and the blond slapped his hands away from the sticky wires and shoved a cup of water at him. McCree gratefully downed the water, then burst into a fit of coughing that shook him to his core. They fussed over him while he wheezed, reattaching leads and checking his vitals.

“How long?” McCree finally managed to croak.

“Hmm, it’s been… nearly three days since you and Hanzo showed up here.” Angela said absentmindedly, looking at a small device and writing something down. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

“Flashlight in my eyes.” McCree grouched while looking around again. “Where’s Hanzo?”

“Not here, at the moment.” Angela pulled out her penlight as if on cue. “He went to find what information he could to help. Look here.”

McCree frowned but followed her instructions until the meaning of her words fully sunk in. He caught her hand with the flashlight, pushing it aside so he could look her in the eye.

“Wait, _wait_. Are you telling me he went _back_ there? Alone?”

“He didn’t say where he was going, but if you mean back to wherever you ended up with these symptoms, I believe so.” Angela put the penlight away to scribble some more notes, “And he said that no one was able go with him, due to limitations on the device he had to travel back.”

McCree moved to throw the covers off and slide off the gurney he laid on, but both Angela and the blond seemed to anticipate the move and blocked him; fortunately before he managed to completely lose the sheet covering him as he belatedly realized he was buck naked beneath it.

“Stay put!” Angela scolded. “You aren’t going anywhere until we’ve sorted this out.”

“That place is _dangerous!_ ” McCree protested. “He shouldn’t be going back there! Where’s my clothes?”

“I’m _sure_ he’ll be fine.” Angela said firmly, but McCree saw the uncertainty in her eyes. “We need all the information we can get. Now hold still while I run a few more tests.”

“I can help him!” McCree stubbornly insisted. “I just need my gear. Where—”

“ _McCree_.” Angela’s voice was sharp now. “I _will_ sedate you if you get up off that bed. You aren’t well. You are _not_ leaving until we know how to stop this. Hanzo will be back soon, I’m sure of it.”

McCree subsided with a huff and a grumble, knowing she would follow through on her threats, and allowed them to do whatever it was they wanted to do. It mostly involved lights in his eyes and following fingers that traced patterns in the air, as well as suffering the indignity of having more patches of chest hair shaved for secure placement of the sticky patches that held leads to his skin. He furtively checked his surroundings, making educated guesses as to where his gear would be, and the fastest route of escape once Angela wasn’t watching. She was a tough one to escape, but he’d done it before. He just needed to be careful.

“ _Jesse_.”

McCree found himself jerking back to attention, not realizing he’d been lost in thought, eyes automatically going to her snapping fingers. “Hmm?”

“I’m going to ask you a few questions, alright?” Angela glanced over at the blond, who was watching a screen intently. “What’s your name?”

“Jesse McCree.” He grudgingly responded, knowing she wouldn’t quit until he cooperated anyway. A strange feeling was creeping over him, like a stray thought tugging insistently at his attention, but he couldn’t quite remember what the thought was.

“Today’s date?”

“You know I don’t know that on a good day.” McCree groused. “Comin’ on winter? October something.”

“Where are you?”

“The Big Empty.” He said distractedly, still trying to figure out what it was he was forgetting, but then what he had said registered and he frowned. “No, that ain’t right…”

The thought was tugging harder now, growing more difficult to resist. Someone was saying his name, but his tongue felt glued to the roof of his mouth. McCree didn’t remember anything more after that.

***

He woke up a few more times after that, usually in the tent, but one time he was sitting in the courtyard in the morning sunlight. That had been disorienting; blinking in the light, wondering where his hat was, where Hanzo was, and then seeing Angela sitting beside him, chewing on her pen with two different books open in her lap. He opened his mouth to ask her what the heck was going on, but everything went blank before he could. Another time, he thought Hanzo was there, holding his hand, but everything slipped away before he could open his eyes to see. His thoughts were fleeting, like fine sand slipping through his fingers, but he knew whatever it was that was happening to him was getting worse instead of better.

***

McCree woke up. His head hurt. He tried to lift his hand, wanted to touch the source of hurt, pull out the knife he could feel was planted there, but someone caught his hand before he could. There were people moving around him, moving quickly enough he could feel the faint breeze on his face. He tried to open his eyes but something covered them, leaving him in darkness. 

“Don’t move, McCree.” Hanzo said somewhere nearby, the hand tightening on his. “It’ll be alright. Just rest.”

McCree never had been one to do what he was told, but he made an effort this time. The pain in his head didn’t abate though, and his temples were throbbing under the gauze wrapped around his head. Someone pushed down an arm that he hadn’t realized he had lifted again.

“Hurts,” he managed to gasp out, his voice thick even in his own ears. He needed to move, to find a position that didn’t _hurt_ so bad, but they wouldn’t let him get up. He felt something move under the skin of his right hand and someone squawked when he tried to yank his arm away in a panic. Something made a crashing noise and a heart monitor was beeping wildly and McCree tried to struggle against the hands holding him until someone solid unexpectedly crushed him in a bear hug. He inhaled sharply, startled, and smelled the soap that Hanzo was always particular about using.

“Be still, Jesse.” Hanzo murmured against the side of his head. “Rest.”

McCree felt all the fight drain out of him, and he managed to clumsily thread his left arm behind Hanzo’s back and clung to him, remembering belatedly to be mindful of the prosthetic’s more powerful grip. More was done to the IV port in the back of his right hand and he felt his pulse quicken with panic at the thought of more drugs being pumped into him but Hanzo held him tight and quietly explained what they were doing, although most of it went in one ear and out the other. Eventually, the pain began to abate, and he could feel himself going limp against Hanzo.

“I think it’s working.” Hanzo murmured to someone over his head. McCree wanted to agree; finally, blissfully pain free, but all that came out was a heart-felt groan, and everything faded out.

***

McCree leaned against the sun-warmed wall behind him and tilted his head back, soaking in the last rays of sun as it began to set in the west. It was still warm in the Old Mormon Fort courtyard thanks to the unseasonably warm day that they’d had, and he wasn’t going to waste a minute of it. Fareeha had left for the day already, after throwing her hand of cards at him when she’d caught him cheating. His own laugh had caught him off guard, loud and booming in the courtyard and straight from his chest. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed like that. Even Fareeha’s frown has cleared when she heard it, fond exasperation taking its place, and she’d ruffled his hair before leaving with the promise to see him again later.

It wasn’t often that he found himself even mostly alone these days, and he chose to take it as a sign that the medical team weren’t worrying over him as much as they had been. He mentally debated on the wisdom of asking Angela again when he could leave; he was only half convinced she was joking the last time he’d asked and she informed him without looking up from her microscope that every time he asked added another day to his stay.

Footsteps crunched on the gravel nearby, and he opened one eye to see Hanzo standing there. The Courier had been busy around the city with a few odd jobs he’d picked up to help the Followers and Angela out, but he’d still been McCree’s most frequent visitor. 

“Howdy,” McCree drawled, touching the brim of his hat with a grin but otherwise staying where he was. It wouldn't be long before the sun went down. 

“How are you feeling?” Hanzo asked, a question that McCree had been asked more than often these days.

“Oh, you know,” McCree closed his eyes again, “going stir crazy, being cooped up here.”

It was mostly an exaggeration. He’d been weak as a kitten when he first started coming around after the surgery that had been performed to remove the implant from inside his skull, and it had taken a person under each arm to support his first wobbling steps out of bed. Hanzo hadn’t said much about the implant, but Angela had quietly told him about how it had put McCree in a near catatonic state from time to time, able to follow simple directions and even walk with prompting, but otherwise left him mentally absent. She had also found what she suspected was a kill switch in the implant; although who or what had held the means of activating it was a mystery that Hanzo refused to speak of.

It had been a relief to get the bandages off, but when he’d wheedled somebody into letting him have a mirror and a razor so he could shave he’d barely recognized himself, with eyes blackened and cheeks a little more gaunt under the scruffy beard he’d been sporting; no wonder everyone had been wearing worried and pinched expressions around him. He had looked terrible, like someone who had suffered a long illness. From what Angela and some of the other medical staff from the Followers had said, he supposed he had.

“Dr Ziegler is pleased with your recovery.” Hanzo came to drop onto the bench beside him.

“Oh?” McCree opened one eye to look at him sideways. “That so.”

Hanzo was also leaning against the wall, but instead of facing the setting sun he was looking at McCree, his eyes flitting often to where the shaved patch that was just barely visible under McCree’s shaggy hair was. The scar from where Angela and Dr Usanagi had performed surgery to remove the implant was already well healed— thanks to Angela’s Caduceus technology and a judicious amount of Stimpacks— but it would take a while for his hair to grow back in. McCree rubbed a hand over it self-consciously.

“She said you could come back to the hotel with me tonight, but I’m not sure. You look pretty comfortable here.” Hanzo said nonchalantly. The words hit McCree like an electric jolt, and he all but leapt to his feet.

“For real?!”

It had barely been a week since the bandages had come off, but it had felt like the longest week of his life. He was pretty sure Angela had been ready to strangle him a few times already, judging by her ‘difficult patient’ comments muttered under her breath, but as much as he hated being under her thumb during the recovery process, he grudgingly respected her orders. For the most part.

Hanzo was smiling, a genuine one that reached his eyes.

“For real.” He confirmed.

McCree barely suppressed a fist pump, then reached down to offer a hand to Hanzo to pull him to his feet, impatient to get going. Hanzo took the offered hand and let him pull him up, and used the momentum to wrap an arm around him. Surprised at the unusual PDA, McCree let himself be caught, gazing into Hanzo’s eyes.

“I could help with that.” Hanzo threaded his fingers through McCree’s hair, indicating the shaved patch and his own undercut-style hair. McCree grinned down at him.

“Not sure I could pull off that look as good as you, sugar.”

“We could see.” Hanzo said noncommittally. “Sleep on it.”

“On a _real_ mattress.” McCree said reverently, thinking of the bed at the Lucky 38. The cot he’d been sleeping on during his stay at the Mormon Fort wasn’t the worst he’d slept on, but he had to admit that he’d become spoiled when it came to sleeping accommodations.

“I promised Dr Ziegler that I wouldn’t let you push yourself too far.” Hanzo said more seriously. “You’re to come back for regular checkups as well, at least for a few weeks.”

McCree scrunched his face up and Hanzo gave him a gentle shake.

“Alright, alright.” McCree gave in grudgingly. “Whatever it takes to get out of here.”

“Good.” Hanzo patted his cheek. “Then let’s get out of here.”

McCree grinned at him cheekily and dipped in for a quick kiss, catching Hanzo by surprise.

“After you, darlin’. I'm right behind ya.”

***


End file.
